She smiled serenely at the pair, mainly focused on the sugary donut festooned with Froot Loops Neal had brought her. “You got it, boss.”
Peter tapped a file folder in the table somewhat pointedly before taking his leave.
Veronica sat up a bit straighter at the tap of the folder on glass. She was certainly feeling more prepared, at least, for a high school than she’d been for the black tie nightlife. Plus teaching assistant was a little easier to play than significant other. Depending upon what they uncovered during orientation, she guessed they’d know whether they needed to align themselves with students, faculty, or some combination thereof. And it might turn out they could benefit from playing adversaries. Only time would tell.
‘Til then, there’d be food and interesting company.
"Make it seven-thirty, bring something else to drink if you don't want wine, and expect a late night," Neal said, promptly giving out Moz's terms. He'd yet to figure out why, but ever since Moz had met Veronica, he'd been strangely non-combative over her presence and inclusion. If Neal had to guess, Mozzie had some kind of mutual friend or mutual interest, but since he hadn't included Caffrey into that, he guessed it was a more tenuous connection than expected (which probably meant he just like Veronica more than most people). Either way, Neal was relieved for it.
At seven-thirty, the door was already open to Neal's apartment and it was filled with all manner of delicious smells. Neal had been prepping all afternoon, and Mozzie had been critiquing in the meantime, nursing a glass as he was apt to do, and awaiting the arrival of Veronica.
Since her last visit, Neal had finished and replaced almost everything that was out on an easel, but otherwise his place remains relatively unchanged.
"I thought I heard you coming up," Neal said, poking his head around the corner to greet Mars as she approached his door. He led her through. "Come on in. How was traffic? Moz was just complaining and he didn't even go anywhere today."
"It's because of the traffic that I didn't go anywhere, thank you very much." Mozzie was already on his feet and closing the space between them as he defended himself. "Veronica, it's good to see you again. You'll make this evening bearable yet," he said.
Neal worked on sauteing some vegetables in olive oil. "He's upset I won't entertain the idea of recruiting enterprising students for a car wash scam he's hoping to run."
Mozzie grips Veronica's shoulder. "Five hundred dollars each to detail cars every other Saturday while my guys collect VINs. It's not even illegal!"
"It's unethical," Neal asserted, but he seemed already tired of the argument.
“’Any tool can be used for good or bad. It’s the ethics of the artist using it that matters.’” Mozzie quoted, swirling his wine.
Veronica didn’t know if that helped or hurt Mozzie’s case, but she pushed past it, laying a box of freshly baked snickerdoodles on the counter. Her years spent as a member of the pep squad did pay small dividends if it meant there was one dessert she could bake reliably well. “I took the subway. The guy who pees in the corner of my usual train was sleeping today, so I caught a break.” She scrunched up her nose as she took a seat the table with Mozzie. “I guess that means traffic was good.”
“See – even Miss California here uses the subway,” Mozzie groused, pouring Veronica a glass. He toasted her. “To the heartbeat of New York.” Veronica raised her glass to him and sipped, savoring the wine, the view, and the tingly inner warmth of having crime pals in her life once more.
She turned to Neal. “This is me, officially offering my help. I can cut things, assemble them, and usually not burn them, but I don’t promise any more than that.” She wasn’t a bad cook, but she wasn’t great. It was something she’d learned out of necessity rather than passion. In those early days living at the hotel with her dad, they got tired of takeout quickly, so she had the recipes for a few comforting meals up her sleeve in addition to the excellent snickerdoodles, but she couldn’t even identify half of what Neal had in front of him or guess how the ingredients went together.
Mozzie leaned in. “Let him show off, California. You need to see this.” He opened a laptop and keyed in what Veronica guessed was a password before turning the screen toward her. The first thing she saw was a full screen view of the Cézanne. Mozzie stood and scooted around the table to join her, then he hit another key. The next image was an extreme close-up of the painting, particularly the bottom left corner. What she was seeing in terms of the painting was the right hoof of a black stallion, but what she perceived was a tiny Cyrillic word that almost appeared carved into the keratin.
She frowned, peering at the image. The harder she looked, the more obvious it was. “What does it say?”
Mozzie turned and leaned on the table, looking down at Veronica. “’Kane.’ K-A-N-E.”
Veronica frowned. Kane Software and its founder had a lot of dark dirty secrets, and she’d seen to it many of them were exposed. She could write this off as a bizarre coincidence – after all, lots of people had that name. But she had a sinking feeling that it wasn’t. And if Mozzie was pointing it out to her in particular, she guessed he didn’t think it was either.
True enough, if this had been a coincidence, then it would have been an impressive one. Unfortunately, as in most cases, coincidence was better suited for romance novels or blockbuster films; in Neal and Mozzie's world, something like this wouldn't (and couldn't) be anything but a grab for attention.
"There's something else," Neal added as he turned back to face the room and dried his hands on a tea towel.
Moz clicked a few buttons on the laptop and the screen refreshed to show the entire painting. "Remember how we had you capture the frame as well?" he asked. A few more clicks cycled through close-up shots. As each passed, it was clear that the frame is damaged — much more than expected. A beaded inset, in particular, looked to be purposefully damaged. As the pictures filtered past, it was clear that there was some kind of pattern to it.
Caffrey, who had noticed it, hadn't had any luck in deciphering it despite his best efforts. Mozzie either, which made Neal feel slightly better about it. Still, he went on, "It's a coded message, but we haven't figured out the cipher. I think we're close," he noted. "A substitution, a shift — it's only a matter of time before we crack the code."
"—more wine," the other man added as if Neal forgot one last step to solving the riddle. He topped everyone off to prove his point.
“I’m beginning to sense, ‘there’s something else’ is your slogan.” Veronica replied to the room at large. She peered at the frame, and rattled of her guesses.
“Kane’s known for software, so maybe the hashmarks and blanks make up something. Binary?” She shrugged. “Or it could be a count. Or a map.” Or anything or nothing at all.
Sometimes the free association worked, and even when it didn’t, it gave her a jumping off point. Diving into an investigation without clear evidence was a big no-no for both lawyers and law enforcement professionals alike. But for a reformed PI, a semi-reformed alleged thief, and a... Mozzie, even a good guess was better than nothing.
But seeing as they had nothing solid, she was starting to see why Neal told her to anticipate a long night.
Mozzie took a seat. “We haven’t ruled anything out.”
Indeed, several hours later found them with theories, but no ah-ha! moments to speak of. As expected, Neal's dinner had gone off without a hitch from canapé to sorbet, leaving all of them a bit too full, and maybe a bit drunk, too, the way Mozzie was pushing the wine. Still, for all the racking they were doing in the brain department, there were just as many offshoots that took them in nostalgic directions, too, so all the time passing couldn't be blamed entirely on working hard.
Perhaps realizing, Neal glanced at his phone — a quarter past eleven — and tried not to feel too bad about it. Many a night he'd found himself in this exact situation, wondering how Mozzie could stay up so late, get up so early, and still somehow function. Add in the affinity for wine and it made Caffrey tired just thinking about it. He placed his phone face-down, he sat forward from his deep slouch. "Moz, maybe we—"
The smaller man bupped at his long-time friend, which immediately shut him up. Neal huffed and Mozzie held up a finger. "We're close. I think we should keep pushing," he said even as he finished pouring the last drops of the bottle into his still half-full glass.
"Moz—" This time it was more persistent, but Neal wasn't saying no. Slouching back again, very much the petulant child of the group, he fussed with a cork and stared through the printout on the desk. "Some of us have work tomorrow."
"You'll get your beauty rest, don't worry." Unmoved by Neal's plight and still somehow satisfied, Mozzie turned back to Mars and tapped on his own printout where he'd marked it up. He pushed on. "Something about this area feels wrong. It's been bothering me all night."
Suddenly Neal was interested. "In the bottom right? Me, too..." It hadn't been anything concrete — more a sense than anything. Grabbing up a thick marker, Caffrey crossed out one spot in the pattern edge and held it up. It changed the pattern, of course, and immediately Mozzie's eyes lit up.
He dipped into his own printout, flipping to the blank side while he hastily grew a grid. Transposing something in his head — numbers to letters to numbers on some shifting cipher — he filled in letters and then crossed the centers and diagonals like he was winning all the games of tic-tac-toe. More circling evolved and soon he realized he had the answer. "California, are you ready for this? 'Exeter, Girton—'"
"Schools," Caffrey immediately cut in. "It's a resume."
Mozzie went on, pointedly. "'Hearst,'" he added, knowing it wasn't a coincidence even before turning that same pointed look to Neal and finishing "'Dalton"'..."
Veronica had been mid-yawn when Mozzie called her by her latest nickname but she snapped out of her languor completely when he named Hearst.
"These aren't just any schools," she said. "Lots of blue-bloods, once and future politicians, Hollywood kids. That's a ton of access to... what? Money? Patronage? Nicer locales from which to commit forgery?" Veronica looked between Moz and Neal, needing their unique lens into this world she was just getting to know.
Murder, by comparison, seemed far simpler. The means and motive might be cleverly hidden, but the act itself was easy enough anyone could do it. And while that certainly made the suspect pool vast, and there were many exceptions, it was usually pretty cut and dry who killed whom. But this? Hidden codes within codes? Brilliantly replicated pieces of art? Art that wasn't even just the means to an end but was part of the code? Dan Brown, eat your heart out - this shit was complicated.
Good for them she was a quick study, and the detectivin' wasn't too different no matter the crime. Pick up a lead, follow it. Eventually, they'd find something, and though it wasn't likely to be the outcome they expected or wanted, it would be at least part of the truth.
Veronica didn't get the sense either of her companions, charming as they were, was in pursuit of the same thing she sought, though. The answer to the puzzle seemed secondary, and she guessed they were after whatever the puzzle led to. Maybe they didn't know what it was, and maybe there was nothing waiting at the end of the trail, but Veronica was curious to see where this would all lead. At this point, she didn't entirely know where her loyalty would lay if called upon. Even speculating about it as she had been was likely Peter's voice in her ear, cautioning her not to fall in with them.
On the other hand, there was always the Lilly on her other shoulder, pushing her toward the fun, even at the cost of her moral center. And that was what she'd chalk making false statements to a federal investigator up to (which she would hopefully not need to do on the stand before a jury of her peers). It was also the Lilly in her that didn't care how late it was or how early a day she and Neal had ahead; Veronica leaned in, eager to hear their theories about just what the résumé meant.
"I think I know, but it'll take me a few days to research." Mozzie stood abruptly. "Better go check on Bugsy - it's been a couple hours since he ate." Before bustling out of the room, he pecked Veronica on the cheek and gave her a squeeze. "Night, kiddo."
Veronica watched him go, then gave Neal a questioning look as she stood and started bussing the few stray glasses and dessert plates to the sink. "Was that strange, or is it just me?"
He considered her question a moment, and then said with a laugh, "I think I could read a thousand books about that man by that man and he'd still be a mystery to me." Of course, Mozzie was the good kind of mystery, with mostly decent intentions and more class than most. Neal figured Veronica, who dealt with the intensely unethical much more frequently, could appreciate that part of their friend. "Good thing we got dinner in now." It was likely they wouldn't hear anything from Mozzie in the meantime, not even a text on his progress based on his quick and mysterious departure. Which was strange enough, because Neal was pretty certain that he'd been staying in June's guest room.
Neal was close behind Veronica and following suit, tidying as if to hide the evidence of their long night. What they were doing wouldn't exactly be considered illegal, but it probably wasn't fully legal, either, and ever since Peter had gotten the hang of popping by unannounced, it had become a habit of Neal's to try not to leave anything sitting out that might incriminate him. When he'd finished, he rolled down his sleeves after the long night, smoothing at the wrinkles.
"Can I call you a cab?" There was no way he'd let her take the subway home alone at this hour, and he certainly wasn't riding with her home and back even if he absolutely adored her. He gestured to the couch. "Or the pullout's yours if you want it. I don't snore," he announced, as if proud of this fact because it made him that much better of a host. "Either way, we should probably take a couple minutes to talk about how tomorrow's going to go."
Veronica would take the cab - if she was going to have to endure Piz’s scrutiny for spending the night with this charming, handsome man, she’d at least want to be guilty of something worthwhile.
That settled, she said, “We’ll have to play it by ear once we get in there. At first, we should act like the professional academics we are. Then, once we feel out the dynamics, we can decide what our relationship should look like. What do you think?”
"If that's how you want to play it," he responded, which was a good enough answer all around. The cab wasn't a problem — he had an app for that — but otherwise, Neal figured no one would believe Veronica would be stupid enough to fall for a guy like him, anyway, so either option worked for him.
He leaned on his table and crossed his arms, waiting for the message to come through on his phone when the cab arrived. "We've got a pretty lengthy history, at least." Neal said, flipping open his FBI packet. And then, excitedly, he added, "Oh! I'll wear my 'smart guy' glasses." One of his favorite additions to the facade.
She didn’t think Neal would have any trouble passing for anyone he wanted to be, “smart guy” glasses or none, but he did have a point. Costuming was a vital (and fun) part of undercover work. For her part, Veronica was envisioning the few tweed items in her wardrobe. Of course, as an undergraduate, she could really wear most anything, but she guessed Miss Nicole Bradley, research assistant extraordinaire, would want to look professional for her first day.
Once the taxi arrived, she and Neal walked down together. “Thanks again for dinner. See you bright and early tomorrow, Professor.” She gave him a hug and departed, buzzing all the way home on the high of discovery. Part of her regretted leaving. She’d certainly have stayed the night going over the evidence until they found more answers or passed out, but they did have work in the morning, and Veronica knew she’d need to be fresh. So she went back to her apartment, kissed her sleeping boyfriend on the forehead, and climbed into bed.
Veronica, Neal, and Diana had agreed to meet a coffee-and-donut truck near Dalton’s administrative offices to check in. Diana was already in line when Veronica turned up.
“Good morning, Miss Bradley,” Diana said, appraising the lawyer. “You don’t look a day over 21.”
Veronica fluffed her curled hair and straightened the satchel she was carrying her books in. “I appreciate it. I feel like I’m about twice that today.” She’d woken up to a wine headache and her period arriving early, and it seemed no amount of makeup was helping her undereye bags and general puffiness, so Diana’s compliment helped almost as much as the coffee they soon obtained. She took a sip, not caring if she burned her tongue. When Neal turned up, she handed him a cup and a bag containing fluffy, glazed goodness.
“You ready for your first day molding young minds?”
"I am but the facilitator," Neal said, nodding his thanks as he received the breakfast offerings through a complicated maneuver that needed to account for his shoulder bag. "With the proper tools, these young minds will mold themselves." It sounded an awful lot like a Mozzie quote, but it was, in fact, just something Caffrey tossed together at the last second in an effort to not sound like he'd been up well into the night "partying" with his crime pals. He stuffed the donut into his bag, sipped his coffee, realized he was trying to drink from the wrong side of the cup, and then righted it before shamelessly diving in.
Diana smirked. "I can tell you didn't do the required reading." His addition of glasses only reinforced her opinion that Caffrey didn't understand the meaning of humility; she's seen his hot-for-teacher look before and this wasn't far off. Beyond that, her amusement lingered because it hadn't slipped anyone's notice that Neal and Veronica had managed some kind of "outside rapport," as Peter had called it. The inclusion of Mozzie was a given, which suggested to Barrigan everything she needed to know about her two companions. "Look fresh, okay? We've got no one listening in this time," she told Neal while swatting at his arm with her bag of food. And then she nodded to Mars and offered her a warm smile. "See you in there." And off she went.
"Everyone's a critic," Neal sighed, tipping his head down to look at Veronica over his glasses. He'd left his hair roguishly unruly, but he'd dressed a bit different than usual, with a suit that read much more Professor Jones than Indiana, buttoned up and structured, subdued in a way that's not natural for a guy like Caffrey. He was born to peacock around, but like this, he feels like a pheasant scratching around in the underbrush. It wouldn't stop him from making an impression, of course, but at least it helped dull a bit of his luster. "Let's go be humble."
Orientation doesn't last long, and there isn't even much of a need for either of them to talk outside the introductions offered in a round. They tour the school — a very posh facility — and eventually end up being shown to the room where they'll be teaching the class.
Left along for an hour to familiarize themselves with the available technology and ready anything they might need for class, Neal quickly and efficiently begins checking all the common areas for bugs, making it pretty obvious to Veronica. There was no reason to believe anyone would be listening in, but it was already a habit, so he didn't stop himself.
"This should do fine, don't you think, Ms. Bradley?" He hadn't given the all-clear, so for the moment they're keeping up appearances.
“If it’s good enough for you, Professor, it’s fine for me. I’m just here to learn, after all.” In truth, Veronica was a little let down by the day so far. For some reason, she expected the meet whoever was behind the forgery and/or faking his teaching credentials and know him instantly. Things never worked that way, of course, but it didn’t stop her from feeling disappointed. The school itself was impressive, and the few classes she’d seen in session appeared somber and well-attended. Her experience of high school had been a lot wilder, so it almost made her sad for these students that they didn’t seem allowed to express themselves like teenagers were wont to do. Perhaps while they were undercover, Neal could give his class, at least, a little breathing room.
She hopped up on a desk, peeking at the closed door to make sure no one was loitering. “So we don’t have our first class until tomorrow. Maybe you should do a little recon in the teacher’s lounge during lunch? I can go for a walk around the campus and kind of get a feel for the gossip. What do kids call even call it now? Tea?” She probably needed to review her (FBI-faked) Instagram feed before she interacted with actual students or she’d be outed as a thirty-year-old pretty quickly. At least she could pretend that years being a Serious Student had interfered with her ability to keep up on slang.
Veronica’s solo tour hadn’t netted anything more worthwhile than a nice walk around a beautiful campus. If there was an imposter on staff, either the students didn’t know or didn’t care. She supposed that meant she was mostly off the hook for fitting in with the kids and could focus on providing backup or cover for Neal. She met him outside one of the classroom buildings, intending to report back to Diana before calling it a day.
“Professor,” she said, falling into step with him. “How was lunch?”
Neal fell into line with Veronica, his hands pressing into the pockets of his trousers. He didn't think it looked at all suspicious for the two of them to be hanging out together, thankfully, so he didn't concern himself with the idea that someone would question it. He hadn't seen Diana since the morning, but had a similar plan to Veronica, once they'd finished here.
"It was..." Caffrey tried to think of the right word. What was the opposite of enlightening? He huffed. "Depressing." He didn't need to be a professor in humility, as suggested, to know the sad stench that followed people who thought too highly of themselves. Between the bragging, the posturing, and the whining, Neal yearned to return to the White Collar offices for a regular dose of mundane professionalism. More than anything else about this operation, Neal found himself frustrated with the decorum of these teachers. School was a terrible place already, and how fortunate the students seemed to have had a different experience in the classrooms.
"There are a few persons of interest," he said, lingering in a well-worn area. Despite the prestige of the school, there were still cigarette butts strewn around, the telltale signs of students (or teachers) trying to hide their vice on a patently non-smoking campus. Neal made a note to pick up a pack of cigarettes and a lighter on the way home, thinking it might be beneficial to see who already had secrets to keep. "For what it's worth, I'm fairly sure we're looking for two people. And I'm not ruling out that they work closely. What about you? How did you do with the kids?"
“Not depressing, but I got nothing. These kids are all politically active and stuff - they don’t even talk about who’s taking whom to the dance or whatever.” Frustration was evident in her voice, but her tone shifted as a thought struck her. Hearst’s library had always been an excellent place for a meeting since no one ever studied there.
“At least, they don’t do it where they can be overheard.” She made a mental note to cruise the library on her way out before switching gears.
“So what are we going to do about your malaise?” She really didn’t have any hobbies except eating and going on stakeouts, and it wasn’t time yet for a stakeout. “I can put something spendy on the corporate account if you want.”
Immediately, Neal's eyes lit up. He almost screamed oh, shopping! in the way his posture and mood changed at the idea. Of course, expensing something on the corporate account sounds like a fine idea, in theory, but it wasn't as interesting as the alternative; As far as he was concerned, there was a deal out there with their name on it. Or, better yet, something for nothing, which was Caffrey's favorite option.
But then he remembered the op and decided it was safer if they kept a lower profile. It wouldn't do to have someone spot Professor Grant Reynolds peacocking around a storefront with his research assistant.
"I think I've got a better idea," Neal said. Veronica would just have to trust him.
One cab ride later, and Neal felt pretty safe being himself again. In a converted house, a small cafe was nestled near the front. There was a view of a gift shop, and beyond that, a quaint little museum. And not just any museum, of course, but a spy museum. The hokey brochures within reach of the table touted all manner of devices and props, most of which could be easily associated with the industry, but there were more than a few objects of splendor Caffrey thought they both wouldn't mind putting their eyes on. Beyond that, it gave him an excuse to get a little unmonitored time with Veronica.
Neal sipped his espresso happily. It was impeccable, of course; nothing but the finest. "Don't take this the wrong way, but I think you'd make a living if you took up a life of crime." It was a compliment. But, of course, with her dad and her history, some part of it already feels like it makes sense. "So, why not the FBI? Your dabbling makes half the agents they have look like probies."
"I tried it." She'd been an intern for three rigorous months. Her dad's theory was that it had just been the wrong time in her life. Fresh off watching Cassidy Casablancas walk off the roof of a hotel, she'd been eager to throw herself into work. But work had been filing, research - there'd been nothing to put her hands on. So she returned home, matriculated into Hearst, and the rest is history.
"I guess all the rules kind of got to me."
So she'd turned to the one profession where she was expected to bend them - the one, at least, that (probably) wouldn't land her in jail. But she was flattered to think Neal though highly enough of her to refer her into his own line of work. She did enjoy crime for crime's sake, and she told him as much. "Plus, breaking and entering is pretty thrilling. I didn't know that would have been an option had I joined up."
But her story was well-known. What wasn't a matter of official record wasn't really important to anyone but Veronica anyway. Neal was the mystery, and probably for good reason, but you couldn't take the I out of the PI. So she asked.
"What about you?" she asked, tipping her demitasse to him. "Was this what you wanted to be when you grew up?" She really couldn't tell. Lots of the people she knew who'd turned to crime at a young age had been railroaded into it. They usually never made it to the heights Neal had allegedly reached, though, so that indicated to her that his life must have been a choice at least in part.
He nearly snorted indelicately into his tiny little cup, but somehow managed to avoid it. Did he want to be entered into indentured servitude for the United States government? Not quite. But he knew that wasn't what she was asking, even if it gave him a chuckle to think about it.
"No, none of it," he said, gesturing in an offhand manner. "I honestly don't think I knew what I wanted to be, only that I wanted to be the best at it." The something-for-nothing game certainly had a habit of escalating as the player did, and for Neal, who took to nearly anything with ease, it wasn't a long or difficult road to the top. People envied him for it, and even still he didn't regret it. In fact, more than once he'd been given quite the look by Burke for expressing a little too much pride in his alleged work.
He thought for a moment longer, settling the cup and adjusting the placement of the spoon on his napkin. "You're right about the rules. Then again, I wouldn't ever accuse the FBI of following the rules." Neal wasn't trying to poison the well, but he had seen plenty of times where the letter of the law had been misinterpreted, misused, rewritten, or outright ignored. Neal only differed, he felt, in the number of forms he filled out, in comparison. Even Peter wasn't flawless in that regard, although if he had to worry about calling all of them crooks, he'd hesitate to find his colleagues in that category.
"If I was a Fed, though, I'd want to be one like Peter. He's the best they've got," he announced, somewhat proudly, then leaned in to lower his voice, adding with a smile, "But if you tell anyone I said so, I'm going to pretend like this conversation never happened." The idea that such a thing might never get back to Burke made Caffrey all that more pleased to have this time without anyone looking over his shoulder. Unfortunately, Peter knows the only reason it's not a risk is because Neal would never put Veronica in a situation where she might become an accomplice to something serious. He's a little wrong in that regard, but a little right, too, in that Neal would never allow her to be implicated without knowing it was possible ahead of time.
"My lips are sealed," Veronica promised, likewise condensing her dishes into a tidy pile. She tucked a tip under her saucer for the girl working the cafe and stood, leading Neal to the museum beyond.
It was nicer than advertised. Housing a well-curated collection spread throughout gorgeous rooms, the place had a homey, inviting feel, despite the somewhat disreputable subject matter. It was a little dusty, speaking to the fact it wasn't as well attended as the city's other museums, but Veronica and Neal encountered several patrons in the first few rooms alone, so it was hardly forgotten. A hidden gem, which as Veronica was noticing, was pretty much Neal's favorite kind.
She paused to admire a wooden periscope from the 1800s, shifting their easy, trivial conversation about the museum's offering back to her... well, let's not call it an inquisition. "What's next, then? Will you stay working for Peter?" If she were in his position, she wouldn't keep giving over secrets without charging an exorbitant fee, so she'd go to private sector consulting. But she did like her revenge.
Leafing through the brochure, Neal found one of the items in the case — a more prized piece, of course — and slid his finger in to read more about it later. It bought him a little time to grapple with something that he'd already spent a good amount of time concerned over already.
"Birthday cards are a bit more difficult to send when you're in the wind," he added. He didn't mean it to sound meaningful, and purposefully worded it hypothetically, but Neal wouldn't deny to himself that more than half of his contingency plans prepped for a life on the run.
To relieve her the burden of this idea, he smiled his million dollar smile, smug in the knowledge that such things couldn't be held against him. "I haven't decided." It wasn't a lie. He had options — as many as he'd created for himself — but having walked a fine line between feeling useful and feeling used, it was hard for Caffrey not to want to lean towards what always came easier to him. "I want to be able to travel," he added, somewhat abruptly. It had been too long since he'd had his freedom and every day he thought he might go to sleep and wake to find his wanderlust gone, his desperation had doubled as if to remind him he'd never be able to have everything he wanted. "Maybe consulting," Neal said, inadvertently echoing Veronica's thought. "Or sales, if I really want to live the life of a criminal."
“At least you’ll be free.” Freeish, at least. Tied down to a job and all the trappings of adulthood could sometimes seem like a sentence, but almost anything had to be preferable to prison she guessed.
Speaking of prison, Veronica added, “But if you ever need a lawyer, I hope you’ll keep me in mind.” Law wasn’t exactly her passion (as she was beginning to accept), but like Neal, she strived to be the best at everything she did.
"As long as you can stand Moz being your co-counsel," he almost-joked. Whether Mozzie's credentials would hold up or not was always the million dollar question, and in this case, that was probably a pittance compared to the amount that would be required for Neal's bail.
He gestured back towards the entrance of the museum, wallet already in hand. "Come on, let's get a couple trinkets from the gift shop to remember this by." They wouldn't be obtaining anything of real value, of course, but it was fun to pick out a few mementos Caffrey could put on a shelf and cherish for how it reminded him of another place and time. "But first you've got to tell me: What's the Veronica Mars five year plan?" he asked. "You've already made some waves, but what's next?"
As a sudden afterthought, he added, "Full immunity if you want to admit that today starts your new life of crime."
Veronica laughed. If all one knew of a life of crime came from Neal, she could see the appeal. But she knew the truth - most criminals didn't end up in a beautiful studio on Riverside Drive, and his current circumstances really didn't speak to his years in prison or the fact he seemed bound and determined to return. And honestly, orange was not Veronica's color.
"It's pretty much the same as it's been for the last ten years: don't get murdered, don't get kidnapped." Mentally, she added, 'and don't get knocked up.' It wasn't like she couldn't envision children in her future, but she couldn't imagine having any with Piz. He was a kind, gentle man, and she enjoyed his company, but he wasn't part of the five-year plan either. Not that she'd gotten around to mentioning that to anyone, particularly Piz. She knew that she was selfishly holding him back, robbing him of a chance to find someone who'd really love him, but she wasn't ready to let go of the comfort of their companionship. That wasn't a conversation for the moment, however.
"I'm a simple girl with simple tastes." Veronica picked up a replica pocket watch that telescoped out into a camera, showing it to Neal. "See? All I really need is a camera and a suspect."
He took the the little gadget, turning it around in his fingers, inspecting it for quality. It wasn't the nicest thing on the market, he imagined, but from the look of it, it would still work with microfilm. He made a mental note to pick up a couple rolls for Veronica just to encourage her to use the pocket watch one day.
"Classic," he said, appreciatively, grinning at her. He kept the item in hand as he browsed for himself, but by the look of it, as he picked up the hide-away in the shape of a quarter, he'd already had an item in mind, maybe well before he'd walked in the door. With Neal, it was always the long, long game.
Checking out, charming the teller, putting them back out on the streets — it all went without a hitch, and as they were once more alone in each other's company, Caffrey offered over the gift. "I know it doesn't sound like it, but I really appreciate people like you and Peter, Vee," he said, trying out the nickname. It was undetermined if he liked it or not, but he let it stand for her reaction while he went on, "Good people are hard to find. And by good, I mean mostly incorruptible. Even in the FBI, that's hard to find." If nothing else, he could appreciate good work and good people; Neal had certainly met his share of corrupt on both sides of the fence, but since coming to work with the White Collar folks, he'd been taken by the good ethics they all seemed to maintain despite all odds.
Vee, huh? She was instantly reminded of Weevil. She didn't mind one way or the other, so long as he didn't call her Ronnie à la Dick/Rick Casablancas.
She accepted the gift with a grateful and simple, "Thanks," though in truth, she was a little embarrassed. She certainly hadn't expected him to purchase it - she knew what his government stipend was, after all, and considering her prestigious corporate law firm paid her very well to do essentially very little, she felt guilty taking anything from anybody. But a gift was about the thought, so she did her best to tamp down the flush of self-consciousness.
"That's sweet, Neal. I think you're giving me a little too much credit to put me in Peter's league, but it's nice of you to say." After all, she herself had committed quite a few misdemeanors in her indiscriminate youth (and was currently embroiled in at least one federal crime along with Mozzie & Neal), but she took his point. At the end of the day, she, like Peter, only wanted the truth outed and the bad guys apprehended.
"I have to say, though, this is the most fun I've had since... well, in a long time." She'd left Hearst to escape the endless loop of investigation, but she realized now how much she'd missed it. It was part of her, and she was good at it. She felt like she'd just awoken after a long (though extremely productive) nap.
They reached a subway entrance that would be an easy connection to her apartment, so she stopped. "So I'll see you tomorrow?"
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Peter tapped a file folder in the table somewhat pointedly before taking his leave.
Veronica sat up a bit straighter at the tap of the folder on glass. She was certainly feeling more prepared, at least, for a high school than she’d been for the black tie nightlife. Plus teaching assistant was a little easier to play than significant other. Depending upon what they uncovered during orientation, she guessed they’d know whether they needed to align themselves with students, faculty, or some combination thereof. And it might turn out they could benefit from playing adversaries. Only time would tell.
‘Til then, there’d be food and interesting company.
“Your place, eightish?”
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At seven-thirty, the door was already open to Neal's apartment and it was filled with all manner of delicious smells. Neal had been prepping all afternoon, and Mozzie had been critiquing in the meantime, nursing a glass as he was apt to do, and awaiting the arrival of Veronica.
Since her last visit, Neal had finished and replaced almost everything that was out on an easel, but otherwise his place remains relatively unchanged.
"I thought I heard you coming up," Neal said, poking his head around the corner to greet Mars as she approached his door. He led her through. "Come on in. How was traffic? Moz was just complaining and he didn't even go anywhere today."
"It's because of the traffic that I didn't go anywhere, thank you very much." Mozzie was already on his feet and closing the space between them as he defended himself. "Veronica, it's good to see you again. You'll make this evening bearable yet," he said.
Neal worked on sauteing some vegetables in olive oil. "He's upset I won't entertain the idea of recruiting enterprising students for a car wash scam he's hoping to run."
Mozzie grips Veronica's shoulder. "Five hundred dollars each to detail cars every other Saturday while my guys collect VINs. It's not even illegal!"
"It's unethical," Neal asserted, but he seemed already tired of the argument.
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Veronica didn’t know if that helped or hurt Mozzie’s case, but she pushed past it, laying a box of freshly baked snickerdoodles on the counter. Her years spent as a member of the pep squad did pay small dividends if it meant there was one dessert she could bake reliably well. “I took the subway. The guy who pees in the corner of my usual train was sleeping today, so I caught a break.” She scrunched up her nose as she took a seat the table with Mozzie. “I guess that means traffic was good.”
“See – even Miss California here uses the subway,” Mozzie groused, pouring Veronica a glass. He toasted her. “To the heartbeat of New York.” Veronica raised her glass to him and sipped, savoring the wine, the view, and the tingly inner warmth of having crime pals in her life once more.
She turned to Neal. “This is me, officially offering my help. I can cut things, assemble them, and usually not burn them, but I don’t promise any more than that.” She wasn’t a bad cook, but she wasn’t great. It was something she’d learned out of necessity rather than passion. In those early days living at the hotel with her dad, they got tired of takeout quickly, so she had the recipes for a few comforting meals up her sleeve in addition to the excellent snickerdoodles, but she couldn’t even identify half of what Neal had in front of him or guess how the ingredients went together.
Mozzie leaned in. “Let him show off, California. You need to see this.” He opened a laptop and keyed in what Veronica guessed was a password before turning the screen toward her. The first thing she saw was a full screen view of the Cézanne. Mozzie stood and scooted around the table to join her, then he hit another key. The next image was an extreme close-up of the painting, particularly the bottom left corner. What she was seeing in terms of the painting was the right hoof of a black stallion, but what she perceived was a tiny Cyrillic word that almost appeared carved into the keratin.
She frowned, peering at the image. The harder she looked, the more obvious it was. “What does it say?”
Mozzie turned and leaned on the table, looking down at Veronica. “’Kane.’ K-A-N-E.”
Veronica frowned. Kane Software and its founder had a lot of dark dirty secrets, and she’d seen to it many of them were exposed. She could write this off as a bizarre coincidence – after all, lots of people had that name. But she had a sinking feeling that it wasn’t. And if Mozzie was pointing it out to her in particular, she guessed he didn’t think it was either.
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"There's something else," Neal added as he turned back to face the room and dried his hands on a tea towel.
Moz clicked a few buttons on the laptop and the screen refreshed to show the entire painting. "Remember how we had you capture the frame as well?" he asked. A few more clicks cycled through close-up shots. As each passed, it was clear that the frame is damaged — much more than expected. A beaded inset, in particular, looked to be purposefully damaged. As the pictures filtered past, it was clear that there was some kind of pattern to it.
Caffrey, who had noticed it, hadn't had any luck in deciphering it despite his best efforts. Mozzie either, which made Neal feel slightly better about it. Still, he went on, "It's a coded message, but we haven't figured out the cipher. I think we're close," he noted. "A substitution, a shift — it's only a matter of time before we crack the code."
"—more wine," the other man added as if Neal forgot one last step to solving the riddle. He topped everyone off to prove his point.
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“Kane’s known for software, so maybe the hashmarks and blanks make up something. Binary?” She shrugged. “Or it could be a count. Or a map.” Or anything or nothing at all.
Sometimes the free association worked, and even when it didn’t, it gave her a jumping off point. Diving into an investigation without clear evidence was a big no-no for both lawyers and law enforcement professionals alike. But for a reformed PI, a semi-reformed alleged thief, and a... Mozzie, even a good guess was better than nothing.
But seeing as they had nothing solid, she was starting to see why Neal told her to anticipate a long night.
Mozzie took a seat. “We haven’t ruled anything out.”
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Perhaps realizing, Neal glanced at his phone — a quarter past eleven — and tried not to feel too bad about it. Many a night he'd found himself in this exact situation, wondering how Mozzie could stay up so late, get up so early, and still somehow function. Add in the affinity for wine and it made Caffrey tired just thinking about it. He placed his phone face-down, he sat forward from his deep slouch. "Moz, maybe we—"
The smaller man bupped at his long-time friend, which immediately shut him up. Neal huffed and Mozzie held up a finger. "We're close. I think we should keep pushing," he said even as he finished pouring the last drops of the bottle into his still half-full glass.
"Moz—" This time it was more persistent, but Neal wasn't saying no. Slouching back again, very much the petulant child of the group, he fussed with a cork and stared through the printout on the desk. "Some of us have work tomorrow."
"You'll get your beauty rest, don't worry." Unmoved by Neal's plight and still somehow satisfied, Mozzie turned back to Mars and tapped on his own printout where he'd marked it up. He pushed on. "Something about this area feels wrong. It's been bothering me all night."
Suddenly Neal was interested. "In the bottom right? Me, too..." It hadn't been anything concrete — more a sense than anything. Grabbing up a thick marker, Caffrey crossed out one spot in the pattern edge and held it up. It changed the pattern, of course, and immediately Mozzie's eyes lit up.
He dipped into his own printout, flipping to the blank side while he hastily grew a grid. Transposing something in his head — numbers to letters to numbers on some shifting cipher — he filled in letters and then crossed the centers and diagonals like he was winning all the games of tic-tac-toe. More circling evolved and soon he realized he had the answer. "California, are you ready for this? 'Exeter, Girton—'"
"Schools," Caffrey immediately cut in. "It's a resume."
Mozzie went on, pointedly. "'Hearst,'" he added, knowing it wasn't a coincidence even before turning that same pointed look to Neal and finishing "'Dalton"'..."
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"These aren't just any schools," she said. "Lots of blue-bloods, once and future politicians, Hollywood kids. That's a ton of access to... what? Money? Patronage? Nicer locales from which to commit forgery?" Veronica looked between Moz and Neal, needing their unique lens into this world she was just getting to know.
Murder, by comparison, seemed far simpler. The means and motive might be cleverly hidden, but the act itself was easy enough anyone could do it. And while that certainly made the suspect pool vast, and there were many exceptions, it was usually pretty cut and dry who killed whom. But this? Hidden codes within codes? Brilliantly replicated pieces of art? Art that wasn't even just the means to an end but was part of the code? Dan Brown, eat your heart out - this shit was complicated.
Good for them she was a quick study, and the detectivin' wasn't too different no matter the crime. Pick up a lead, follow it. Eventually, they'd find something, and though it wasn't likely to be the outcome they expected or wanted, it would be at least part of the truth.
Veronica didn't get the sense either of her companions, charming as they were, was in pursuit of the same thing she sought, though. The answer to the puzzle seemed secondary, and she guessed they were after whatever the puzzle led to. Maybe they didn't know what it was, and maybe there was nothing waiting at the end of the trail, but Veronica was curious to see where this would all lead. At this point, she didn't entirely know where her loyalty would lay if called upon. Even speculating about it as she had been was likely Peter's voice in her ear, cautioning her not to fall in with them.
On the other hand, there was always the Lilly on her other shoulder, pushing her toward the fun, even at the cost of her moral center. And that was what she'd chalk making false statements to a federal investigator up to (which she would hopefully not need to do on the stand before a jury of her peers). It was also the Lilly in her that didn't care how late it was or how early a day she and Neal had ahead; Veronica leaned in, eager to hear their theories about just what the résumé meant.
"I think I know, but it'll take me a few days to research." Mozzie stood abruptly. "Better go check on Bugsy - it's been a couple hours since he ate." Before bustling out of the room, he pecked Veronica on the cheek and gave her a squeeze. "Night, kiddo."
Veronica watched him go, then gave Neal a questioning look as she stood and started bussing the few stray glasses and dessert plates to the sink. "Was that strange, or is it just me?"
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Neal was close behind Veronica and following suit, tidying as if to hide the evidence of their long night. What they were doing wouldn't exactly be considered illegal, but it probably wasn't fully legal, either, and ever since Peter had gotten the hang of popping by unannounced, it had become a habit of Neal's to try not to leave anything sitting out that might incriminate him. When he'd finished, he rolled down his sleeves after the long night, smoothing at the wrinkles.
"Can I call you a cab?" There was no way he'd let her take the subway home alone at this hour, and he certainly wasn't riding with her home and back even if he absolutely adored her. He gestured to the couch. "Or the pullout's yours if you want it. I don't snore," he announced, as if proud of this fact because it made him that much better of a host. "Either way, we should probably take a couple minutes to talk about how tomorrow's going to go."
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That settled, she said, “We’ll have to play it by ear once we get in there. At first, we should act like the professional academics we are. Then, once we feel out the dynamics, we can decide what our relationship should look like. What do you think?”
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He leaned on his table and crossed his arms, waiting for the message to come through on his phone when the cab arrived. "We've got a pretty lengthy history, at least." Neal said, flipping open his FBI packet. And then, excitedly, he added, "Oh! I'll wear my 'smart guy' glasses." One of his favorite additions to the facade.
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Once the taxi arrived, she and Neal walked down together. “Thanks again for dinner. See you bright and early tomorrow, Professor.” She gave him a hug and departed, buzzing all the way home on the high of discovery. Part of her regretted leaving. She’d certainly have stayed the night going over the evidence until they found more answers or passed out, but they did have work in the morning, and Veronica knew she’d need to be fresh. So she went back to her apartment, kissed her sleeping boyfriend on the forehead, and climbed into bed.
Veronica, Neal, and Diana had agreed to meet a coffee-and-donut truck near Dalton’s administrative offices to check in. Diana was already in line when Veronica turned up.
“Good morning, Miss Bradley,” Diana said, appraising the lawyer. “You don’t look a day over 21.”
Veronica fluffed her curled hair and straightened the satchel she was carrying her books in. “I appreciate it. I feel like I’m about twice that today.” She’d woken up to a wine headache and her period arriving early, and it seemed no amount of makeup was helping her undereye bags and general puffiness, so Diana’s compliment helped almost as much as the coffee they soon obtained. She took a sip, not caring if she burned her tongue. When Neal turned up, she handed him a cup and a bag containing fluffy, glazed goodness.
“You ready for your first day molding young minds?”
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Diana smirked. "I can tell you didn't do the required reading." His addition of glasses only reinforced her opinion that Caffrey didn't understand the meaning of humility; she's seen his hot-for-teacher look before and this wasn't far off. Beyond that, her amusement lingered because it hadn't slipped anyone's notice that Neal and Veronica had managed some kind of "outside rapport," as Peter had called it. The inclusion of Mozzie was a given, which suggested to Barrigan everything she needed to know about her two companions. "Look fresh, okay? We've got no one listening in this time," she told Neal while swatting at his arm with her bag of food. And then she nodded to Mars and offered her a warm smile. "See you in there." And off she went.
"Everyone's a critic," Neal sighed, tipping his head down to look at Veronica over his glasses. He'd left his hair roguishly unruly, but he'd dressed a bit different than usual, with a suit that read much more Professor Jones than Indiana, buttoned up and structured, subdued in a way that's not natural for a guy like Caffrey. He was born to peacock around, but like this, he feels like a pheasant scratching around in the underbrush. It wouldn't stop him from making an impression, of course, but at least it helped dull a bit of his luster. "Let's go be humble."
Orientation doesn't last long, and there isn't even much of a need for either of them to talk outside the introductions offered in a round. They tour the school — a very posh facility — and eventually end up being shown to the room where they'll be teaching the class.
Left along for an hour to familiarize themselves with the available technology and ready anything they might need for class, Neal quickly and efficiently begins checking all the common areas for bugs, making it pretty obvious to Veronica. There was no reason to believe anyone would be listening in, but it was already a habit, so he didn't stop himself.
"This should do fine, don't you think, Ms. Bradley?" He hadn't given the all-clear, so for the moment they're keeping up appearances.
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She hopped up on a desk, peeking at the closed door to make sure no one was loitering. “So we don’t have our first class until tomorrow. Maybe you should do a little recon in the teacher’s lounge during lunch? I can go for a walk around the campus and kind of get a feel for the gossip. What do kids call even call it now? Tea?” She probably needed to review her (FBI-faked) Instagram feed before she interacted with actual students or she’d be outed as a thirty-year-old pretty quickly. At least she could pretend that years being a Serious Student had interfered with her ability to keep up on slang.
Veronica’s solo tour hadn’t netted anything more worthwhile than a nice walk around a beautiful campus. If there was an imposter on staff, either the students didn’t know or didn’t care. She supposed that meant she was mostly off the hook for fitting in with the kids and could focus on providing backup or cover for Neal. She met him outside one of the classroom buildings, intending to report back to Diana before calling it a day.
“Professor,” she said, falling into step with him. “How was lunch?”
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"It was..." Caffrey tried to think of the right word. What was the opposite of enlightening? He huffed. "Depressing." He didn't need to be a professor in humility, as suggested, to know the sad stench that followed people who thought too highly of themselves. Between the bragging, the posturing, and the whining, Neal yearned to return to the White Collar offices for a regular dose of mundane professionalism. More than anything else about this operation, Neal found himself frustrated with the decorum of these teachers. School was a terrible place already, and how fortunate the students seemed to have had a different experience in the classrooms.
"There are a few persons of interest," he said, lingering in a well-worn area. Despite the prestige of the school, there were still cigarette butts strewn around, the telltale signs of students (or teachers) trying to hide their vice on a patently non-smoking campus. Neal made a note to pick up a pack of cigarettes and a lighter on the way home, thinking it might be beneficial to see who already had secrets to keep. "For what it's worth, I'm fairly sure we're looking for two people. And I'm not ruling out that they work closely. What about you? How did you do with the kids?"
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“At least, they don’t do it where they can be overheard.” She made a mental note to cruise the library on her way out before switching gears.
“So what are we going to do about your malaise?” She really didn’t have any hobbies except eating and going on stakeouts, and it wasn’t time yet for a stakeout. “I can put something spendy on the corporate account if you want.”
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But then he remembered the op and decided it was safer if they kept a lower profile. It wouldn't do to have someone spot Professor Grant Reynolds peacocking around a storefront with his research assistant.
"I think I've got a better idea," Neal said. Veronica would just have to trust him.
One cab ride later, and Neal felt pretty safe being himself again. In a converted house, a small cafe was nestled near the front. There was a view of a gift shop, and beyond that, a quaint little museum. And not just any museum, of course, but a spy museum. The hokey brochures within reach of the table touted all manner of devices and props, most of which could be easily associated with the industry, but there were more than a few objects of splendor Caffrey thought they both wouldn't mind putting their eyes on. Beyond that, it gave him an excuse to get a little unmonitored time with Veronica.
Neal sipped his espresso happily. It was impeccable, of course; nothing but the finest. "Don't take this the wrong way, but I think you'd make a living if you took up a life of crime." It was a compliment. But, of course, with her dad and her history, some part of it already feels like it makes sense. "So, why not the FBI? Your dabbling makes half the agents they have look like probies."
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"I guess all the rules kind of got to me."
So she'd turned to the one profession where she was expected to bend them - the one, at least, that (probably) wouldn't land her in jail. But she was flattered to think Neal though highly enough of her to refer her into his own line of work. She did enjoy crime for crime's sake, and she told him as much. "Plus, breaking and entering is pretty thrilling. I didn't know that would have been an option had I joined up."
But her story was well-known. What wasn't a matter of official record wasn't really important to anyone but Veronica anyway. Neal was the mystery, and probably for good reason, but you couldn't take the I out of the PI. So she asked.
"What about you?" she asked, tipping her demitasse to him. "Was this what you wanted to be when you grew up?" She really couldn't tell. Lots of the people she knew who'd turned to crime at a young age had been railroaded into it. They usually never made it to the heights Neal had allegedly reached, though, so that indicated to her that his life must have been a choice at least in part.
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"No, none of it," he said, gesturing in an offhand manner. "I honestly don't think I knew what I wanted to be, only that I wanted to be the best at it." The something-for-nothing game certainly had a habit of escalating as the player did, and for Neal, who took to nearly anything with ease, it wasn't a long or difficult road to the top. People envied him for it, and even still he didn't regret it. In fact, more than once he'd been given quite the look by Burke for expressing a little too much pride in his alleged work.
He thought for a moment longer, settling the cup and adjusting the placement of the spoon on his napkin. "You're right about the rules. Then again, I wouldn't ever accuse the FBI of following the rules." Neal wasn't trying to poison the well, but he had seen plenty of times where the letter of the law had been misinterpreted, misused, rewritten, or outright ignored. Neal only differed, he felt, in the number of forms he filled out, in comparison. Even Peter wasn't flawless in that regard, although if he had to worry about calling all of them crooks, he'd hesitate to find his colleagues in that category.
"If I was a Fed, though, I'd want to be one like Peter. He's the best they've got," he announced, somewhat proudly, then leaned in to lower his voice, adding with a smile, "But if you tell anyone I said so, I'm going to pretend like this conversation never happened." The idea that such a thing might never get back to Burke made Caffrey all that more pleased to have this time without anyone looking over his shoulder. Unfortunately, Peter knows the only reason it's not a risk is because Neal would never put Veronica in a situation where she might become an accomplice to something serious. He's a little wrong in that regard, but a little right, too, in that Neal would never allow her to be implicated without knowing it was possible ahead of time.
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It was nicer than advertised. Housing a well-curated collection spread throughout gorgeous rooms, the place had a homey, inviting feel, despite the somewhat disreputable subject matter. It was a little dusty, speaking to the fact it wasn't as well attended as the city's other museums, but Veronica and Neal encountered several patrons in the first few rooms alone, so it was hardly forgotten. A hidden gem, which as Veronica was noticing, was pretty much Neal's favorite kind.
She paused to admire a wooden periscope from the 1800s, shifting their easy, trivial conversation about the museum's offering back to her... well, let's not call it an inquisition. "What's next, then? Will you stay working for Peter?" If she were in his position, she wouldn't keep giving over secrets without charging an exorbitant fee, so she'd go to private sector consulting. But she did like her revenge.
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"Birthday cards are a bit more difficult to send when you're in the wind," he added. He didn't mean it to sound meaningful, and purposefully worded it hypothetically, but Neal wouldn't deny to himself that more than half of his contingency plans prepped for a life on the run.
To relieve her the burden of this idea, he smiled his million dollar smile, smug in the knowledge that such things couldn't be held against him. "I haven't decided." It wasn't a lie. He had options — as many as he'd created for himself — but having walked a fine line between feeling useful and feeling used, it was hard for Caffrey not to want to lean towards what always came easier to him. "I want to be able to travel," he added, somewhat abruptly. It had been too long since he'd had his freedom and every day he thought he might go to sleep and wake to find his wanderlust gone, his desperation had doubled as if to remind him he'd never be able to have everything he wanted. "Maybe consulting," Neal said, inadvertently echoing Veronica's thought. "Or sales, if I really want to live the life of a criminal."
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Speaking of prison, Veronica added, “But if you ever need a lawyer, I hope you’ll keep me in mind.” Law wasn’t exactly her passion (as she was beginning to accept), but like Neal, she strived to be the best at everything she did.
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He gestured back towards the entrance of the museum, wallet already in hand. "Come on, let's get a couple trinkets from the gift shop to remember this by." They wouldn't be obtaining anything of real value, of course, but it was fun to pick out a few mementos Caffrey could put on a shelf and cherish for how it reminded him of another place and time. "But first you've got to tell me: What's the Veronica Mars five year plan?" he asked. "You've already made some waves, but what's next?"
As a sudden afterthought, he added, "Full immunity if you want to admit that today starts your new life of crime."
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"It's pretty much the same as it's been for the last ten years: don't get murdered, don't get kidnapped." Mentally, she added, 'and don't get knocked up.' It wasn't like she couldn't envision children in her future, but she couldn't imagine having any with Piz. He was a kind, gentle man, and she enjoyed his company, but he wasn't part of the five-year plan either. Not that she'd gotten around to mentioning that to anyone, particularly Piz. She knew that she was selfishly holding him back, robbing him of a chance to find someone who'd really love him, but she wasn't ready to let go of the comfort of their companionship. That wasn't a conversation for the moment, however.
"I'm a simple girl with simple tastes." Veronica picked up a replica pocket watch that telescoped out into a camera, showing it to Neal. "See? All I really need is a camera and a suspect."
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"Classic," he said, appreciatively, grinning at her. He kept the item in hand as he browsed for himself, but by the look of it, as he picked up the hide-away in the shape of a quarter, he'd already had an item in mind, maybe well before he'd walked in the door. With Neal, it was always the long, long game.
Checking out, charming the teller, putting them back out on the streets — it all went without a hitch, and as they were once more alone in each other's company, Caffrey offered over the gift. "I know it doesn't sound like it, but I really appreciate people like you and Peter, Vee," he said, trying out the nickname. It was undetermined if he liked it or not, but he let it stand for her reaction while he went on, "Good people are hard to find. And by good, I mean mostly incorruptible. Even in the FBI, that's hard to find." If nothing else, he could appreciate good work and good people; Neal had certainly met his share of corrupt on both sides of the fence, but since coming to work with the White Collar folks, he'd been taken by the good ethics they all seemed to maintain despite all odds.
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She accepted the gift with a grateful and simple, "Thanks," though in truth, she was a little embarrassed. She certainly hadn't expected him to purchase it - she knew what his government stipend was, after all, and considering her prestigious corporate law firm paid her very well to do essentially very little, she felt guilty taking anything from anybody. But a gift was about the thought, so she did her best to tamp down the flush of self-consciousness.
"That's sweet, Neal. I think you're giving me a little too much credit to put me in Peter's league, but it's nice of you to say." After all, she herself had committed quite a few misdemeanors in her indiscriminate youth (and was currently embroiled in at least one federal crime along with Mozzie & Neal), but she took his point. At the end of the day, she, like Peter, only wanted the truth outed and the bad guys apprehended.
"I have to say, though, this is the most fun I've had since... well, in a long time." She'd left Hearst to escape the endless loop of investigation, but she realized now how much she'd missed it. It was part of her, and she was good at it. She felt like she'd just awoken after a long (though extremely productive) nap.
They reached a subway entrance that would be an easy connection to her apartment, so she stopped. "So I'll see you tomorrow?"
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